


Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magick

by respectableflourish



Series: I'll love the world like I should [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Gen, M/M, Magical Realism, Multi, Porn with Feelings, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 04:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respectableflourish/pseuds/respectableflourish
Summary: They made eye contact and Takahiro knew in that instant his mistake; but he couldn't pull away.He watched as Tooru - shaking and glassy eyed - raised his injured palm to his lips to lap at the still oozing wound and the contact had felt electric; like lust and excitement and he can't remember who moaned first, but he does remember Tooru sobbing “I'm sorry-” before pinning him against the counter.





	Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magick

**Author's Note:**

> Bet y'all didn't expect to see the matsuhana sequel any time soon?!
> 
> In which Takahiro has the worst day, but it works out in the end.

They say the way to hell is paved with good intentions and as Takahiro slowly bleeds out on his kitchen floor, he's inclined to agree. He's been careless and so very naive to think that they could sustain Tooru on drops and tastes here and there, to think that he was fulfilled and not still completely _ravenous_ under the misleading charm of his smile. 

They'd all missed it, even Hajime - and isn't that going to be a conversation neither of them wants to have - though Takahiro’s struggling to think that far ahead, so instead he considers the past. 

 

It started out over six months ago. He and Issei being rudely awoken by some guy hammering on their door - eyes wild, skin pale looking - demanding to know everything Takahiro knew about the path to the underworld. Needless to say, Takahiro promptly told said stranger to fuck off and come back in the morning (preferably not _three o’clock_ in the morning) and then _maybe_ he’d impart the gift of his knowledge. But the stranger - Hajime as he later learned - was stubborn as a mule and impossible to sway.

 

They ended up talking until well into the afternoon and the following evening, until all three of them passed out around several boxes of takeout. 

 

Hajime was gone before dawn broke.

 

What had been asked was an impossible feat and Takahiro wrote it off; joking with Issei about all the hopeless cases they attract as they continued their peculiar lives without a second thought.

 

It should have been impossible. 

Completely and utterly _impossible_ for a mortal to make the the trip, let alone bring someone _back_. 

 

Or so he'd thought. Apparently the rules of the occult only apply to lesser beings and not to one's named Iwaizumi Hajime, who, three months later, turned up on Takahiro’s doorstep once more, stinking of sulphur and with his still shivering husband in tow. 

Somehow, Hajime had beaten the odds, won the favour of a deity and made the final ascent, but the look in Issei's eyes when they both fell over their threshold told Takahiro everything he needed to know about the price they had paid. 

The thing about magic, about the obsession that is needed to accomplish a feat like that, is it changes people. Hajime returned with blue fire in his eyes, sulfur on his breath and the barest smoulder to his footsteps. Takahiro, powerful as he is, could only see the barest signs if he squinted but Issei could see it all and had been tense waiting for the wards around their home to trigger, but Hajime's power hadn't been enough to set them off... yet.

Tooru, for his part, was mostly unchanged - or so it appeared on the outside; the inside was an entirely different matter.

Hunger was the price he paid; a soul can't go that long without succour and remain unscathed, and it became a constant ache that no food or drink could satisfy. The four of them had become fast friends by the time they discovered that anything bought from the hedgewitch who ran a coffee shop down the street made a small dent in Tooru's hunger, and were understandably elated. Further research revealed that magical energy could sate Tooru's hunger and several drops of Takahiro’s own potent blood in meals and drinks had seemed enough. 

He could probably be forgiven the hubris of the idea. When your entire coven sacrifices themselves to empower the youngest among them and pool resources to effectively make that one witch immortal, you get used to that power fixing most things, but current events are making Takahiro strongly reconsider that stance. 

 

Though in the end it's what saves his life.

 

With Issei and Hajime gone that morning, Takahiro made breakfast. Made breakfast and cleanly sliced his hand in a move that even now he's not entirely sure how he managed to pull off. But with Tooru by his side, the amicable response was immediate; large hands and a towel over the wound with scolding words in his ear, giving way to a deathly pale Tooru. 

They made eye contact and Takahiro knew in that instant his mistake; but he couldn't pull away.  
He watched as Tooru - shaking and glassy eyed - raised his injured palm to his lips to lap at the still oozing wound and the contact had felt electric; like lust and excitement and he can't remember who moaned first, but he does remember Tooru sobbing “I'm sorry-” before pinning him against the counter. 

After that Takahiro remembers pain; the agony of Tooru's now impossibly sharp teeth sinking into the meat of his neck and then complete rapture. There had been a glint of green fire in Tooru's eyes as he'd lurched forward and of course, an avatar of greed wouldn't be able to eat his fill if Takahiro fought back, of course each pull of his life's blood feels unrivalled in the pleasure it brings - who wants a meal that struggles? 

At some point they both sank to the floor and as blood creeps across Tooru's lips and the white tiles below, Takahiro’s thoughts come full circle and he now wishes he could at least save Hajime and Issei the sight that's about to greet them when the come back. Blood loss and near unconsciousness aside, he's sporting one hell of a boner and Tooru's in the same state, if not more so and if Takahiro doesn't die from this then it'll be death by Hajime and he's honestly torn over which would be less awful. 

Tooru laps at the ragged bite he's made, sucking hard to encourage the blood flow once more and it has Takahiro arching weakly off the floor; it's entirely messed up how good it feels and even the avalanche of guilt when he thinks of Issei doesn't stop Takahiro from responding when Tooru ruts against him. It's a crush of groins, dicks trapped behind denim and chafing should be a primary concern or so Takahiro thinks, a little hysterically, but the thought soon abandons ship, along with everything else in his head when Tooru forces a knee between his legs and an arm around his waist and well… thinking is really overrated. 

He's swimming somewhere between ecstasy and unconsciousness after that and the disembodiment is uncomfortably familiar. Takahiro remembers this feeling; something long repressed involving magic circles and the willing death of twelve others. The softness of his mother's hands, her voice, telling him to be brave, to be strong - everything a sixteen year old doesn't want to hear or be when they're about to have everything familiar and comforting ripped away from them, all for the slimmest chance of survival of everything old and ancient in the coven, everything that's currently bleeding out across the floor - to live on in spite of everything, live Takahiro, my darling Hiro--

 

“Hiro!”

 

That's not his mother. 

 

“Damn it Takahiro, open your eyes!”

 

 _Issei_ he thinks, but can't respond, not when his body is in shut down to preserve the core of his powers, gone into overdrive to replace what's been lost. Takahiro can't respond, but he's _aware_. Just like a spell trance, he can feel the calm that Issei brings everywhere with him and how each of them reacts to it in turn; the enchantment and lust of earlier has been nullified, but Issei’s power can do nothing to drown out the noise. 

Takahiro doesn't need to see to know exactly what state Tooru is in, his broken sobs and Hajime’s gentle tone tell him more than the visual input ever could. Each cry makes something soft inside him flinch and a growing need to comfort his friend, makes Takahiro take stock of the rest of his surroundings. There’s a hand at his throat, no doubt putting pressure on the already healing wound and there's an arm around his shoulders; Issei cradling him close, but it’s the occasional dampness he can feel, warm like summer rain on his face that finally has Takahiro summoning the strength to open his eyes.

“Issei--?”

It’s a garbled croak more than it’s a name but it garners the same reaction as if he’d yelled it in his boyfriend’s ear.

“Holy shit, I thought you were _dead_.”

Takahiro blinks, bleary eyed and still unable to move, but he manages a crooked looking grin as Issei crushes him close, burying his tear streaked face against Takahiro’s still bloodsoaked shoulder. 

There’s a matching cry from across the tiled floor and he can’t lift his head to see, but there’s the squeak of rubber soles and Tooru’s halo of curls flits into view--

“Oh my god, _Makki-chan_ I--”

\--before Takahiro feels Issei tense and snarl, he feels power gather and Tooru yelp like he’s been burnt and Hajime rumble with a growl that echoes with a sound like the slamming of a granite door. The ensuing stalemate is quiet enough that Takahiro can hear his own blood drip, until Issei raises a hand soaked in said blood - poised as if ready to click his fingers in the universal occult gesture for ‘shit is about to go _down_ ’.

“You, stay the _fuck_ back and _You_ \-- try once more with that hellfire shtick and I’ll trigger every ward in this apartment and send you both back where you fucking came from.”

There is not an ounce of room in Issei’s tone for argument, not when anyone who knows him, knows that the tremble in his words is from quickly escalating _fury_ and not the kind of fear any sane person should be feeling in the face of the cold burn of Soul fire in Hajime’s eyes.

Thankfully, it’s at about this moment that Takahiro feels the tingling of control return to his limbs; enough, at least, to lift a shaking hand to thread with Issei’s bloodstained one and lever himself upright with the kind of stiffness one would imagine seeing from a freshly reanimated corpse - god’s does he fucking _hurt_.

“St-aand, stand down, gentlemen--” There’s an anecdote swimming in his head about ‘no fighting in the war room’ but Takahiro can barely see, let alone be articulate and raucously funny right now “--no one’s usin’ my blood frr’murder t’day alright? Fuck--”

His free hand goes to his head as the room swims like he’s been on a 48 hour bender and Takahiro gags for a moment, holding a hand up at the chorus of protests around him. Good, if his friends are focused on him, there’s at least a 50% chance they won’t fucking kill each other while he’s still getting his bearings.

Issei’s hand is crushingly tight in his and Takahiro squeezes back, shooting him what he hopes is a reassuring smile - as it is, he probably just looks like he’s drunk off his ass and hiding it badly - but it’ll have to do, especially when he squeezes Issei’s hand again, holding eye contact, as bleary as it is, and raises his free arm, beckoning.

“Tooru-- c’mere…”

Takahiro watches the shock register across Issei’s features, before the usually soft arch of his mouth presses into a hard line, dark eyes shuttering a he tries to yank his hand from Takahiro’s grip but, weakness aside, he may as well be trying to budge something made of iron, because not even Issei’s powers can nullify that kind of resolve. There’s times that they can communicate without saying a word and this is one of those moments; everything about Takahiro’s features, the defiant tilt of his chin, screams ‘Later’ and for a heart stopping moment, he wonders if this is the line for Issei, if there’s any coming back from this -- until he drops his eyes and Takahiro can breathe again.

The tension doesn’t bleed from either of them, but it’s enough of an acquiescence that Takahiro can look away and finally take stock of the other two people crowding the kitchen floor. 

Tooru is on his knees, hands raised and tentative, halfway between their huddle against the kitchen cabinets and Hajime’s protective crouch at the edge of the tiles and the look on his face is halfway to breaking Takahiro’s heart clean in two. There’s blood still smeared across his mouth, down his shirt and Tooru’s always been an ugly crier, but there’s something so utterly broken about his expression, that Takahiro beckons a little more insistently, like he’s trying to encourage a spooked dog to his side.

“C’mon, come prop me up, idiot..”

Tooru glances between himself and Issei, eyes wet and hesitant, but his mouth twitches at the intended endearment of the insult and in the next moment he’s throwing himself under Takahiro’s raised arm, hands clutching his lost cause of a t-shirt and sobbing anew.

“M-makki--!”

Takahiro heaves a sigh at the contact, the kind prompted by the type of bone weariness and relief he can feel all the way down to his toes and tucks Tooru into his side, dropping his head to press his cheek against messy curls.

“S’okay-- shoosh, c’mon, s’my fault--”

“I’m s-sorry-- I didn’t-- I never meant to, b-but I was so _hungry_ a-and you--!”

“I know, it’s okay, we’re okay--”

“--nd then H-hajime and Mattsun-- oh my god, _Mattsun_ , I’m so sorry--”

“ _Tooru_ \--”

Takahiro nods against Tooru’s hair, shushing and comforting mindlessly until his friend sobs himself into distressed hiccups. For such a big guy, Tooru is the most vulnerable and small that Takahiro’s ever witnessed him, but their combined remorse and forgiveness has it’s intended effect; little by little, the tension drains away, like a handful of sand and the stifling press of their combined aura’s, eases into the steady compliment they’ve all come to rely on in the first place.

Eventually, Hajime shifts to join them, wary at first, but soon settling a coal warm hand on the space below Takahiro’s knee - as if to check he’s still there - while the other occupies itself with pressing against Tooru’s lower back, if the way he relaxes is anything to go by and there’s a collective, release of breath amongst them.

...Until Takahiro breaks the quiet.

“So, notes for next time: Tooru’s not allowed to lie to his fucking friends- agreed?”

There’s two grumbled “Agreed”, in unison and one spluttered “Next time?!” and Takahiro’s face splits into the type of grin that hurts - in the best way of course.

“Well, let’s put it this way: Are you still hungry?”

There’s silence between them as Tooru shakes his head rather emphatically

“N-no but, Makki-chan you’re not suggesting--”

“I am suggesting, that you tell us when what we’re doing for you isn’t enough, instead of letting it get so bad that you turn breakfast into an a la carte Hanamaki buffet-- speaking of, man I’m fucking hungry…”

As if on queue, Takahiro’s stomach growls loudly and there’s a collective, helpless laughter amongst them that makes him want to sleep for a week, but there’s still a tension running through Issei that tells him that oblivion is a long way off..

“So what’s the plan?”

Hajime, ever practical, is eyeing him with a look that tells Takahiro he think’s he’s crazy - he probably is - but at least now he’s crazy with a plan.

“I’ll talk to the local Vampire coven, see about getting some blood bags- We can at least be sanitary about this and we’ll just...wait and see how long that kind of feed lasts, I guess..”

Takahiro shrugs, but gives Tooru’s shoulders a squeeze where he’s still glued to his side.

“S’not an exact science, so you gotta tell us, okay?”

Tooru’s reply is a loud sniff as he scrubs at his eyes and finally straightens to glance around at them sheepishly.

“O-okay.. But-! You’re sure, Makki… Mattsun?”

He looks between them as if he’s expecting a rug to be pulled out from under him any moment now, but Takahiro only nods reassuringly and though Issei’s expression is still full of storm clouds, he eventually nods, words rough but sincere as he grips Takahiro’s hand tightly.

“Yeah..it’s okay, Tooru..”

Takahiro can feel Hajime gauging them and knows the exact moment that they’re not found wanting, because he leans in and presses a kiss to the side of Tooru’s head, tugging him close as he does so, before patting Takahiro’s knee and making to stand.

“Okay. Come on, Idiot. Let’s get you cleaned up and get lost for an hour-- You want us to pick anything up for you guys?”

Honestly, Takahiro could kiss Hajime right now, because by ‘anything’ he means ‘food’ and the time frame is, hopefully, just long enough that Issei can’t kill him and have time to hide the body afterwards. He shoots Hajime a thumbs up and a shit eating grin in response.

“Food. Like, all of it? As much as you can carry and fit through our door? Thanks.”

Hajime snorts with laughter as he sheds his jacket; unzipping the hoodie under it and offering it to Tooru as he twists shakily to his feet. 

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do-- We’ll get this cleaned up when we get back though, so go lie the fuck down, okay?”

Takahiro nods as he watches Tooru struggle with the zipper, while Hajime scrubs dried blood from his husbands mouth and eventually hustles him towards the door with an arm tucked securely around Tooru’s waist. Bloodstains covered, it almost looks as if nothing happened this morning, though the watery smile and tentative wave Tooru offers over his shoulder as they leave is enough to shatter the illusion completely. 

The apartment door snaps shut after them and Takahiro shivers as the wards hum back to full alert, senses strained and sensitive in the wake of such an upheaval to his system.

Peace settles around them, quite literally, but it’s not the warmth of relief, it’s the chill of Issei’s aura slamming down like steel plates and Takahiro can’t help but groan, because there’s nothing he hates more than Issei’s literal cold shoulder.

“Isseeii..”

“Get up.”

“C’mon, Issei can we not do this--”

“No-- Get. Up.”

“Babe, please--”

“Don’t-! You dare. I mean it, Takahiro-- Up.”

Their eyes meet and there’s that tremble in Issei’s voice again, in his hands where he’s got a hold under Takahiro’s arm and on his shirt to drag him to his feet, argument or not and Takahiro frowns, but complies; allowing Issei to heave him to upright and lurch them in the direction of their bedroom.

Everything is quiet and tense and Takahiro really doesn’t have the energy for this, but know’s it’s going to happen anyway, so he’s not surprised when Issei dumps him on the bed and drags himself away to pace; hands coming up to rake through his curls as his frustration finally manifests.

Takahiro can feel it building, the anger and anxiety that Issei rarely lets surface and he tries to head it off at the pass, one last time; hand raised to reach for his irate boyfriend, or maybe placate him, it’s unclear which.

“Issei, I’m sorry---”

“No--! Shut up. You don’t get to be sorry, not right now!”

The words die in Takahiro’s throat at the response, at the _tone_. Issei rarely raises his voice, let alone in anger and he swallows painfully, letting his arm drop as Issei continues; hands gesturing explosively with the impact of his words.

“You were _dead_ , Takahiro! Three minutes without a pulse, two more without a breath in your lungs that wasn’t mine-- Do you know what that felt like? Do you have _any_ comprehension of what was going through my mind while you bled out across our kitchen floor?”

He does. Of course he does-- visions of the self inflicted isolation he’d found Issei in when they’d first met, swim in Takahiro’s mind and he chews viciously at the inside of his own cheek; cold sweat breaking out across his skin. This is bad.

Uncontested, Issei forges on; tone scathing and breathing laboured as his eyes gloss with unshed tears that make Takahiro’s heart throb painfully in his chest.

“I told you, this was trouble. I _told you_ , the greed I could feel in him, the hunger, but no-- You always know better. Oh, ‘it’s only a few drops here and there! What could possibly be wrong with that?’ _This_ , is what’s wrong with it, Takahiro and you fucking-- You _roll over_ , like nothing’s wrong without even considering, without even _knowing_ \-- You didn’t see Oikawa when we walked in, your dumb ass can’t even see him _now_. He’s changed! By your blood no less!”

Takahiro watches him, numb as Issei sobs for breath, as he hugs himself and shakes like his body is being battered by a storm.

“I told you I didn’t want this. This is exactly the reason I didn’t want to leave you alone, why I pulled away from this fucking community. No good _ever_ comes of playing with power, of leaving the door open to every gods be damned hopeless case, but you can’t help yourself can you?! You throw your blood around like it’s the catch all for every problem in the whole damn _universe_ and never once consider what will happen to you, what will happen to _me_ \---”

He chokes and Takahiro is powerfully aware of the words ‘without you’ ringing in the space between them, unsaid, but echoing like a shout anyway. He’s shaking too, equal parts shame and anger roiling together into a cocktail of emotion that his body is hard pressed to contain. On the one hand, Issei is right-- but on the other, the one fisted in the sheets beside Takahiro, he’s wrong and still so fucking /scared/. He’d thought them beyond this, but apparently Tooru’s not the only one that’s been sitting on some really pertinent information as of late and Takahiro’s voice trembles with the effort of keeping a tooth and claw grip on his composure.

“I-I get it, okay? We screwed up, _I_ , screwed up. But if you had a problem with how I do things, don’t you think that was a conversation we should have been having over three _fucking_ years ago, Issei?! I mean, holyshit! I’m a _witch_ , I’m preprogrammed to help people, I helped _you_ , didn’t I?”

He scoffs at the wordless vulnerability that flits across Issei’s face and finally drags himself upright, because this is a conversation Takahiro wants to have standing on his own two feet, damn it.

“Or did I? Because it’s sounding a lot like I dragged you kicking and screaming out of your little bubble! Oh I’m sorry, like your life was all sunshine and daisies before we met! Like you hadn’t cut yourself off from everyone that loved you--”

“--Hiro’ Don’t.”

“No! You wanted this conversation, so we’re having it! Because, no matter how much of an obsession you fucking nurture, no matter _how_ powerful you get, you can’t cut people out like that just because you’re _scared_!”

Issei’s expression crumbles and he grips his sweater like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, like he can physically hold himself together and Takahiro doesn’t doubt it, even as Issei backs away and he advances on him.

“Yeah, I’m overconfident and I’m reckless, but at least I’m _honest_ with myself. I know what I am, I know what was done to me and why - at least I made peace with that - and didn't hide away feeling _sorry_ for myself--”

They are nose to nose now, Takahiro crowding Issei against the built-in wardrobe opposite their bed and he’s lashing out, knowing he should stop, but there’s that hurt burning inside of him at the insinuation,that somehow he’s been dragging Issei along all this time, that he’s not been here with him willingly and it turns Takahiro sharp and ugly, with no sign of stopping.

“--Yes! It’s unfair! Neither of us asked for this - I sure a _hell_ didn’t want their sacrifice -but at least I didn’t let it all go to waste--” 

“--Takahiro, please--”

“--at least! I didn’t lock myself away, obsessed so much with finding _peace_ , that I let them _die_.”

 

It’s out of his mouth and poisonous before Takahiro can even think to stop it-- all he can do is catch Issei as he collapses, hands clawing at his own hair, and drags them both to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs and sobbing breaths.

“Y-you _swore_! You _promised_ you’d n-never--”

“Issei--!”

Takahiro sucks in a breath around his name like he’s been submerged for hours; dragging oxygen in and shaking so much that he can hardly hold on as Issei weakly tries to force him away. 

“Fuck--Ow! Issei, stop-- I’m sorry! I’m sorry okay?!”

He tastes salt and for the first time, realises that he’s crying just as much as Issei is and it’s the final straw for both of them, Takahiro knows, he can see the realisation mirrored back at him in Issei’s eyes. 

They fall together, weak limbed, foreheads pressed tight and skin sweaty, letting sorrow and relief flood together as Issei’s barriers, both magical and emotional, shatter under the pressure. Arms tight around each other, Takahiro’s words are as furtive as Issei’s replies, clawing back some semblance of a whole amongst the shattered pieces they find themselves in.

“I never- I shouldn’t have said that I--”

“I t-thought you were dead, Hiro’ a-and I wasn’t there, _again_ \--”

“--I know, fuck-- I know I don’t, I’ve never held it against you--”

“-then why?--”

“Because!..you made it sound like...like, that was better, like I’m holding you here..”

“...You are… I mean!-- Whoa, I mean you’re the o-only reason I’m _not_ that scared anymore..”

Takahiro snuffles at that, feeling a flush creep up his neck - a combination of shame and embarrassment crawling across his skin.

“....I’m so fucking sorry, Issei…”

“I know-- Me too okay? I-I’m sorry… I should’ve said something- before all this--”

“Y-yeah..I know it’s still hard for you, that you want it all to go away but--”

“--hiding doesn’t work.”

It’s said in unison and Takahiro’s heart flutters in his chest at the flash of a smile that catches at Issei’s lips. It’s an old argument, but if the past has taught them anything, it’s that the occult and it’s denizens will not be ignored; especially if your name is Matsukawa Issei and there’s not enough will in the world to keep it at bay the way they’d both sometimes prefer.

 

….Another year or so from this moment, Takahiro will revise both their assumptions on this point, because Issei’s stubbornness is nothing if not a force to be reckoned with and certain powers, under the correct pressures, will grow like a wildfire in a tinder dry forest.

 

For now though, he presses apologies into Issei’s skin - neither of them are right, their points of view come from two very natural extremes - but they meet each other with forgiveness, just as they’ve always done in moments like these.

“So...you’re here because you want to be?”

Issei snorts at his need for reassurance, but Takahiro takes comfort in the way he’s dragged closer, in the kiss that’s pressed to his forehead as he’s tucked against Issei’s shoulder.

“Yeah...I always have been..”

“And...you still love me and our friends-- even though we’re fucking disasters that will doom us all?”

“...Yeah, I still love you-- all three of you, but maybe you, just a liiittle bit more...”

Issei pinches the air between two fingers to make his point and Takahiro hides a grin against his neck.

“..But not as much as Hajime, I mean phew, _wow_.”

“Hey!”

That earns a smack and they tussle until Takahiro’s flat on his back, Issei propped up over him on his forearms, laughing breathlessly and leaning down for a kiss.  
It tastes sweeter for all the salt on their lips and Takahiro slips his arms up and around Issei’s neck, reeling him in and insisting on more. 

In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the guilt Issei feels - like a black core to his aura, it twists and fluctuates in size with his mood and it’s why, now more than ever, Takahiro refuses to let the man in his arms hide away again. Something that dark will end up killing Issei one day, if he’s not careful and it makes facing it alone out of the question; but he’s not alone, neither of them are and Takahiro thanks his lucky stars everyday, that he found Issei before it was too late. 

Takahiro shivers as the kiss deepens and coupled with one of Issei’s hands smoothing down his side, he feels the last of the tension between them bleed away..

 

..Only to be replaced by a whole new kind of tension, inspired by the hitch of Issei’s knee against Takahiro’s groin and it’s one he has no complaints in experiencing. 

 

Though it seems ridiculous to be rolling around on their bedroom floor, when there’s a perfectly acceptable bed not three paces away, but Issei is warm and wanting against him and Takahiro is delirious with relief enough to not give a single shit, where or how this happens.

It probably says something about their relationship that most arguments end up like this; with sloppy kisses, grasping hands and desperate bids for contact. To seek each other out, to be closer - as close as rucked t-shirts and hastily shoved down jeans can allow - and feel the sting of Issei’s teeth and pant, breathlessly against each others mouths. 

Their tempers can flair, their powers can clash, but there's nothing been done or said that can’t be forgiven when apologies are pressed into flesh; kisses burning as brightly across skin as any sigil or arcane oath ever could. Takahiro groans, letting his head fall back against the floor with a thud and lets his musing burn away under the heat of Issei’s mouth, under his hands; hips jerking weakly under the assault of long fingers and a sweaty palm, taking both their dicks in hand and dragging curses from his throat.

“..Issei…. _fuck_.”

The man in question hides his giddy laughter against Takahiro’s throat and muffles his own satisfied groan in a bite that has Takahiro arching up against Issei; hands dragging at his clothes and fingers twisting in damp curls. It doesn’t break the skin - Issei’s never relished the prospect of Takahiro bleeding, even before today - but it makes his dick throb and swell harder than even Tooru’s new found powers managed to invoke and there’s something satisfying in that discovery; satisfaction tinged with relief. 

 

No one wants to face the prospect of their long standing boyfriend playing second fiddle to an event that almost killed them.

 

Issei growls low and pleased at his reaction and it’s so possessive, so very _unlike_ Issei that Takahiro wheezes breathlessly like he’s suffered a gut punch, dragging his perfect idiot up by the hair to bite at his mouth in response. The fact that he’s met with a weak smile and soft eyes says everything he needs to know about how Issei feels and Takahiro kisses him like there’s no one else, in any of the realms they’ve come across, that he’d rather be tangled up on the floor with.

It devolves into desperate heat after that; every tight pull of Issei’s hand, wringing shuddering breaths and curses from them both and winding them as tightly as Takahiro’s furtive embrace has them locked together. It ends the way it started - with sobbing breaths and each other’s names falling from their lips - and Takahiro taking all of Issei’s long limbed weight without complaint as they collapse into a sweaty heap on the bedroom floor.

Later - after further murmured apologies and the kind of sweet, softness Takahiro’s only ever experienced in Issei’s arms - once Issei’s made a face a wiped his hand off all over Takahiro’s shirt and they’ve laughed themselves weak and most importantly, _had a fucking shower_ , they emerge, blinking into the soft light of the living room.

It is most definitely more than an hour later, but Takahiro shuffles, shamelessly into their spotlessly clean kitchen and falls ravenously on Hajime’s offering of takeout ramen like he’s not eaten in _days_ and the way he feels, it may as well be. The acquisition of his and Issei’s food, is just enough time for the quiet hum of conversation to come to an end and he re enters their living space - holding two bowls triumphantly aloft - to a scene that stretches a tired grin across his face.

Hajime has claimed his corner of their couch, but where Tooru is usually tucked under the arm his has draped over the back of the couch, he’s pressed against Issei’s side; heads bent together over Tooru’s phone and sniggering over whatever he’s emphatically tapping at. Peace well and truly restored, Takahiro wafts Issei’s bowl at him, before handing it over and squeezing himself into what space is left - grumbling, as is typical, about never being able to fit on his own damn couch. 

The mixed volley of teasing that includes his love of the bakery across the street and his iron clad grip on his finances is enough to make Issei snort into his ramen and Takahiro levels his sour look at the television, but he’s desperately fighting back a smile too. 

Without a doubt, other things will be sent to try them, perhaps even to break them, but for now, Takahiro's glad that this isn't one of them.

**Author's Note:**

> The third and fourth instalment should follow eventually, simply because I absolutely love this AU ;v;
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Magical ideas and future shenanigans also inspired by the Unknown Armies and Don't Rest Your Head/Don't Lose Your Mind roleplay settings.


End file.
